Pensacola to Baton Rouge
After Tallahassee, I began to slowly inch my way Westward across the country. My first stop was Pensacola. Though my time there was limited, what I gathered about Pensacola was that it was probably more of a military town than Athens is a college town. They have model blue angels on the columns of overpasses. Luckily I was hanging with eight Air Force officers, and my hair is still pretty short, so I fit in pretty well. My friend Wes lives with Justin from UGA and William from the Citadel in a sort of bachelor pad/Animal House complete with a foosball table, big screen tv, and pool table. Apparently they are in some sort of holding pattern awaiting assignment/the continuance of their training, so basically, they are on perpetual paid vacation until that time comes. Man, the military is tough.
Three other guys from UGA were visiting--Andrew, Anthony, and Jose. In addition Christy is also stationed in Pensacola, so there was a veritable gang to hang out with. We began the night by going to McGuires--a cavernous Irish restaurant that can cater to anyone and everyone. From the 18 cent soup to the $100 filet mignon burger that comes with a magnum of Don Perignon, to the 1946 $20,000 bottle of wine. When you walk in the restaurant, the first thing you notice is that there are supposedly over a million single dollar bills hanging from the rafters. There are also hundreds of signed celebrity photographs on the wall from 1990’s Alexi Lalis to the Smashing Pumpkins. Our waiter was Dean, who at first had trouble dealing with us for a number of reasons. One, we came in at 10:30 at night, two, Justin Bower, and three, he was from South Africa. Once he understood that one of our main goals for the night was to mess with him, he opened up and began regaling us with stories of shark attacks in South Africa and other lighthearted tales. We stayed there till about 12:30 in the morning and then went to a crowded bar--apparently bars in Pensacola are hopping even on a Sunday night.
Monday, I drove to Baton Rouge. I got to hang out with Betsy; we went out and ate red beans and rice, gumbo, po boys, and hush puppies at a Baton Rouge restaurant. Betsy has Watson the Sheltie. I’m pretty sure, Shelties are second in my book of favorite dogs behind Schnoodles. In any case, after playing with Watson, I heard tale of TFA in Baton Rouge, which to surmise, apparently revolves around curious, hormone-crazed 12-year-olds.
Currently I’m in a Waffle House in Baton Rouge sitting across from a guy that looks exactly like Sting but with more tattoos, and there is an extremely angry waitress who’s riling everyone up. Apparently, she just broke up with a golddigger girlfriend, and one of her friends isn’t going to pick her up to give her a ride to her apartment, so she is slamming dishes and bitching at patrons who don’t tip enough as well as the rest of the wait staff who isn’t doing the dishes. Today is my first “spontaneous” day and tonight I don’t know where I am going to crash other than I think some camp ground in Arkansas--my first of many uncertain nights.